


What Life Is Made Of

by catwalksalone



Category: NCIS
Genre: Episode Tag, First Time, M/M, Porn Battle, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:51:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalksalone/pseuds/catwalksalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's harder to know what you want than to get it. Post 719-Guilty Pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Life Is Made Of

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle X. Prompts: jealous, trigger happy. Beta by soupytwist, for which many thanks. Post-ep for 719, so spoilers for that.

"Were you jealous?" Tony demands, pushing past Tim into his apartment.

"What?" asks Tim, still clutching the door handle.

Tony twists on his heels and gets right up close and personal with McGee's face. "Were you jealous of McCadden?"

"Was I...Tony, what is this?"

"Were you _jealous_, McGee?"

Tim's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. The tip of his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. Tony grabs Tim's shoulders and shakes them. He's been freaking out ever since he'd realized what was really going on in their weird little triangle and he needs Tim to be freaked out alongside him. Now.

"Tell me," he orders.

"Yes." Tim's eyes are shocked wide, but that's nothing to what they're going to be.

Tony smacks hard against the door, slamming it closed, shoves McGee back against the wall and kisses him. Tim's lips move against Tony's and he thinks maybe he's asking a question, but it's muffled by Tony's mouth and, frankly, Tony is not given to responding to verbal inquiries at this time--the answering service is on. He tilts his head and parts his lips, hot and dry against McGee's. Tim's hand flaps uselessly at Tony's hip and he opens up to him.

Thank God. Thank. God.

Tony has expertise at this kissing thing. He's been a regular proponent of make outs since he was a kid barely out of sailor suits. He's good. Really good. If medals were awarded for this kind of thing, Tony would have a full trophy cabinet and his name on an honor roll somewhere. But right here, right now, kissing Tim, it's like he's forgotten everything he ever knew and it's alien and strange and brand new. Warmth, pressure, wetness, sharp zigzags of electricity--his brain catalogs every sensation, overlapping them into an incoherent whole until he thinks he might explode with it.

He wants to say, "I didn't know. I'm sorry. Can we both stop being assholes, now?" Instead he yanks himself away from Tim's mouth, thudding his flattened palm into the wall by Tim's head. Tim doesn't even flinch, staring at him glaze-eyed, lips pulled into a pout by Tony's teeth.

"Dammit, Tim," Tony practically yells. "I want to fuck you. Do you get what that means? I want to _fuck_ you." He's barely sure what it means himself, but surely Tim--brain the size of a small planet--can figure it out.

"Are you freaking out because you think you're gay, now? Because there are other options."

"No!" Tony smacks his other palm into the wall and leans forward, tipping his forehead onto Tim's chest. "I'm freaking out because it's you. I thought you were my best friend and it turns out you're a whole lot more than that and it's too much pressure. I'm a screw up. I'll screw us up."

"You thought we were best friends?" Tim's voice vibrates through Tony's bones and he jerks his head up.

"Yes. Clearly. Focus." He pauses, staring at McGee's shiny face. Good skin, he thinks inconsequentially. And then, "Wait. You didn't? Think that?"

Tim licks his lips again, and Tony deserves many, many points for not letting himself be distracted by him into kissing.

"I...It's complicated. _You're_ complicated, okay?"

Tony slides one of his hands close to Tim's head and flicks at his ear. "So uncomplicate me."

"Okay," says Tim, nodding. "Okay. I'll do that."

Nothing happens.

"Tim," says Tony, his voice surfing the crest of a whine, "You have to _do_ something."

"Oh. Right." Tim nods again, leans forward, rests his hands on Tony's hips and kisses him.

And, okay, Tony had thought maybe McGee was going to weave some elaborate explanation as to why this whole thing was going to be okay, but the kissing he could definitely take as a substitute. Cut the Jordanian knot, or whatever it is (Jordonian? Gordinian? Gardenian?). Problem-solving that may result in orgasms--it's not like he can find fault with that.

Tim kisses him hard and fast and nastier than Tony'd imagined, and he slides his hands around to Tony's ass, tugging him in, letting him know exactly what's happening to not-so-little-Tim.

"Zen," he tells himself, as his body shocks to the press of Tim's dick on his. "Zen, zen, zen. There are some things your dry cleaner doesn't need to see."

Tim wriggles again and--Jesus fuck!--their dicks bump over each other as he lines them up. He starts to rock back and forth and even through layers of cloth, Tony can sense the soft springiness of the head of Tim's dick rubbing up and down his shaft. Zen. _Zen._ Tony's balls tighten and he jerks away from McGee, shoving a hand down his pants and pinching hard at the base of his head.

He wipes a sleeve over his mouth, panting, and lets himself take in Tim for the first time. He's damp-haired, pink-cheeked, wet-lipped and loose-limbed, leaning back against the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly under a wine-red t-shirt, _smirking_, and Tony pinches harder. Involuntarily, he looks down, and grins.

"Nice tent-pole you got going there, McOutdoorsy. You could shelter a whole troop of Webelos under there."

Tim shakes his head.

Tony tilts his, pulling his hand out of his pants, a little more in control now. "What, no joking?"

"No talking," says Tim. "Talking later. This is how we uncomplicate you. One step at a time. First things first, we do that thing you want to do."

And now Tony's really glad of the extra squeeze because seriously? "But-"

"Yes. Mine."

Tony blinks at him.

"Now I can't be funny?"

"Well-"

"Where do you want me?" says Tim and, okay, Tony's mind just melted with the possibilities because Tim is offering his ass on a plate. Tim's tight, round little ass that Tony has tried so hard not to obsess over. He swallows hard.

"I can't-" he says.

And Tim says, "I know."

Tony has to touch and kiss again, then, his hands shoving up Tim's t-shirt to pinch and twist his nipples, fingernails scoring down his side. Tim hisses into Tony's mouth and he grabs one of Tony's hands and pulls it around his body, shoving it into his pants. Tony's fingers press into the curve of Tim's ass and his mouth waters. This is it. This has to be it. He can't function enough to move, to co-ordinate any more than instinct tells him. Tony pulls back just enough to give McGee space and then grips and twists him at the hips, turning him to face the wall. He slides his hand around to the front of McGee's sweats, pressing Tim's dick flat against his belly as he tugs Tim's pants down with one easy pull. Tim judders, rubbing himself against Tony's hand, leaving a sticky silken trail of precome.

And Tony wants to touch it some more, he really does, but there's bare ass, see, and he has to- Tony takes a step back, drops to his knees and there it is, round and covered with downy hair like a peach, and not a sign of a tattoo anywhere on it. It's perfect. Tony wants to eat it. He leans in and bites, right in the center of a cheek. Tim yelps and Tony kisses and licks the mark, then blows on it, soothing it, watching the skin prickle. He puts a hand between Tim's thighs, pushing on them to get Tim to spread his legs, the back of his fingertips brushing Tim's balls. Tony ducks his head, licking the strip of skin that links balls to ass, and up and up into the cleft, his hands spreading Tim out wide.

"Tony," Tim says, and Tony desperately does not want the next word to be 'no'.

"Let me. I want to."

Tim's ass sways slightly and Tony takes that as permission. He pushes his face in between Tim's ass cheeks, breathing him in, letting the tip of his tongue trail over the hairs protecting his ring. Under his hands, he feels pebbles chase across Tim's skin and repeats the motion before licking ever decreasing circles around Tim's hole, getting closer and tighter to the center until Tony is there and he can't stop, can't not push in, his tongue the advance party while he marshals his reserves. Tim groans and shoves back against him and Tony slips further in, opening him up easily. There's less resistance than he's experienced before, with women or men, but he can't spare the processing power to wonder why that might be and he spreads Tim farther, fucking him with his tongue, getting him wet and ready and- Tony rocks back hard, letting go of Tim's ass, and shoving his hand in his own pants to pinch hard at his dick again. It's too much--how is he supposed to hold back?

"Please." Tim's voice breaks on the word and it breaks something in Tony, too.

"One second. Just-" He squeezes hard--zenzenzenzenzen--then scrambles to his feet, yanking at his belt buckle and almost tearing the button of his pants as he races to get them open.

His dick meets the cool, air-conditioned air, and it's a momentary relief, but then he's pressed up against the length of Tim's back, dick riding Tim's ass crack and all bets are off again. Sweat prickles along his back.

"Tim, can I? I haven't--with anyone--for months, I swear. I swear." And he'll be sorry he said that later, but it's true and screw potential humiliation if he can just be inside Tim _now_.

Tim's head drops down and he braces himself harder against the wall.

"Do it," Tony thinks he says, but his voice is barely above a whisper.

Tony presses a kiss to the bone at the base of Tim's neck, skin stretched taut and white over it. Then he grips Tim's hips, pulls him backwards and lets his dick fall into the cleft, nudging at Tim's saliva-wet hole. He pushes hard, the muscles give way and Tony finally gets what he hadn't known he wanted.

Tim lets out a dry, hitching sob and Tony stills. Hands needed to balance them both, he leans forward and rubs his cheek against Tim's back, the cotton t-shirt soft and warm with body heat.

"It's okay," says Tim. "I'm okay."

Tony nods and straightens again, pushing further in. Oh god, it's everything he'd hoped. Hot and tight and _Tim_. He thrusts, quick and shallow, and Tim spasms around him, squeezing his head. There's no way he can survive this. Not and ever be the same again. Tony rocks forward again and this time Tim pushes back, driving himself hard onto Tony's dick. Tim shouts out a shocked and pleased "Oh!" and Tony's stomach twists with pleasure. No, he can't survive this.

"I'm sorry," he pants. "I said I was a screw up." He thrusts deep and fast, maybe four, maybe five times, but he can't stop it this time, the inexorable rise and rise of the deep belly ache that's been building since long before he set foot in Tim's apartment. His hands tighten on Tim's hips and he comes apart, bursting stars and trails of fire behind closed eyelids.

There's no time for regret yet, though, because Tim is pushing back off the wall, pulling Tony's hand off his hip and putting it on his dick, Tony still softening inside him, and strokes it with their fingers interlaced.

"Not a screw up," says Tim between strokes. "One. Thrust. At a. Time. Told you."

Tony would slap him upside the head, but he's occupied with the slick head of Tim's dick pushing through the barrier their linked fingers make and the warmth of Tim's body still cradling his own fading erection. He settles for reaching around and down and squeezing Tim's balls.

"Um," says Tim, and Tony can feel him harden even more before he comes, thick liquid making his cockhead even slippier as Tim shows Tony how to take him through his orgasm.

He should move, Tony knows, but he isn't quite ready. He rubs his nose against Tim's back and mumbles into the shadow of his shoulder blade. "I think I love you."

"Then what are you so afraid of?"

"Don't mock the Cassidy," says Tony, finally peeling himself off of Tim and shoving himself hastily away.

Tim pulls up his sweats and turns around. "That's another shower," he says, looking as his hand, chagrined. He looks back up, eyes again wide, but with openness this time. "And I'm not mocking. I'm saying be sure."

"Shower together?" asks Tony because if you don't ask, you don't get. "And you're sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure. I was always sure."

"Oh."

"That's why you were complicated."

"Oh. So now we've complicated things I'm less complicated?"

"Yes."

Tony tilts his head and folds his arms. "I don't understand you, McGee."

"That's because you're simple. That's a synonym for uncomplicated, by the way." Tim turns and heads for the bathroom, grabbing Tony by the hand and dragging him along behind.

Tony briefly considers starting a tally chart of headslaps owed, but he figures it's not going to take long to lose count. He lets himself be pulled.


End file.
